Are You Lonesome Tonight?
by CherryMuzai
Summary: "As years drag on, life's blemishes are being swept away, leaving only the beautiful things. Mike Mizanin guessed this was the reason why John Morrison was still around."


**Hi, obviously you guys found this interesting enough to click on, so thanks!**

**Now, this story is slightly different than other slash stories you may read.**

**Not everyone is gay in this story. In most stories, there's slash left and right, so there's no need to hide. I'm not doing that in this story. I'm trying to make it as realistic as possible.**

**It won't be immediate. They won't be hopelessly in love by the end of one chapter.**

**I'm trying to do this differently.**

**Anyhoo, Read, Review, Love. **

**Have fun ! ;D**

**Warnings: Slash…And HET in this chapter (what?) **

**Disclaimer: I'm not making any money off this, and anyone recognizable I don't own. The only person I 'own' in this is 'blonde girl' who I didn't even name. So don't sue. **

* * *

No one can deny beauty. When it's there your brain, no matter how subconscious the thought is, will note just how glorious that beautiful thing is. Every flaw will be looked over, because flaws aren't beautiful. And in this world only beautiful things are important. Ugly things are tossed aside, because they aren't perfect. As years drag on, life's blemishes are being swept away, leaving only the beautiful things.

Mike Mizanin guessed this was the reason why John Morrison was still around.

He was beautiful. He was every cliché of beauty known to man. Silky hair, hard, cut abs, and a smooth, almost liquid way of moving. Actually, no, he wasn't beautiful.

He _is _beauty itself.

Miz would admit that freely; just not aloud. Never aloud, because then it wouldn't be right. It's okay to admit these things to yourself, in your head, because then they're just passing thoughts. Once they're spoken though, they become the truth. Once they become the truth they cannot be denied, and that's when you find yourself in a bad, bad situation. So he kept silent, believing wholeheartedly that all they are, are passing thoughts.

"Hey Miz..." The voice of John Morrison broke Mike out of his musings. Looking up at him with lidded, tired eyes, Miz quirked his brow. "Do'ya know where I put my sunglasses?"

Mike snorted, leaning against the cool metal of the lockers. They both were in their locker room, packing up for the night after a grueling match. Miz had been watching John frantically searching through his bags, throwing clothes across the room in his desperateness. Leave it to John to be only searching for _sunglasses,_ of all things.

"I don't know, _John."_ He said, liking the way his name slipped from his lips. "You don't need them anyway. It's dark outside."

John scowled darkly up at his partner, sweeping the hair out of his face. Miz knew his sunglasses were his babies.

"I need them." Morrison declared, almost pouting at the thought of walking out without them. "Even if it's dark."

"Only douche bags wear sunglasses at night."

John's scowled deepened, before he triumphantly pulled out his glasses and slipped them over his eyes.

"Douche." Mike quipped, grabbing his bags and slipping through the door.

The Shaman of Sexy stared at the retreating back of his partner from behind his tinted shades. A small smile quirked on his lips, before he dropped to his knees and gathered his things, shoving them messily back into his duffel bag. He liked Mike. He was his friend, which, all things considered, was a feat in itself. Neither man were known particularly for their humble attitudes or their nurturing spirits. Somehow, though, Miz had worked his way in John's heart. He had to admit, it was different, but he appreciated it. Sometimes, it was a sad thing to be alone walking down the halls backstage.

The ringing of his cell phone caught his attention. Stretching, he picked it up, smiling as he saw the number. Melina, the love of his life. Pressing the 'talk' button, he pressed the phone against his ear, lifting his bag onto his shoulder.

"Hello." He drawled, walking out the door and down the hall. He listened in silence for a while, before smiling brightly. "Of course. I'll be right down."

John hung up, slipping into his car.

* * *

Mike Mizanin was smooth. He was a flirt. He was a _successful _flirt. Don't let his failures with the Divas confuse you. They were what he liked to call 'bitches and sluts.'

Yes, he may have no luck with the Divas, but outside of work, he was quite popular. Just ask the pretty blonde on his bed.

The girl, whom he had no issue with picking up at the local bar, eyed him with steamy bedroom eyes as he slowly unbuckled his belt, dropping it to the floor.

She licked her lips hungrily, crawling towards him and eagerly pulling his pants to his ankles, followed by his boxers.

Mike smirked cockily at her delighted gasp.

"Like what you see?" He cooed, grabbing her hair and pushing her head towards his swollen organ. Her lips wrapped around the head, earning a low moan from his lips as his fingers toyed absently with her golden hair. A small frown appeared on his face. Something was wrong.

She wasn't brunette enough.

Miz almost scoffed. Since when was hair color an issue? If anything, girls had already proven that indeed blondes were more fun. His eyes trailed down to her bare torso. His frowned deepened. She was too lean. No muscle at all. Her stomach was positively flat; no ripple of abdominal muscles against skin.

She was perfect, but it didn't feel right.

Miz growled, pushing himself deeper into her mouth, before the buzz of his cell phone cut him off. Pushing the girl off him, he leaned over to get it.

"Mikey!" She huffed, and Miz held back a wince. Her voice was annoyingly high. "Leave the phone be…and let me take care of you." She smirked seductively, inching towards him.

Miz eyed her, then the phone, considering the offer. Sighing, he quickly checked the number, making sure it wasn't work. He quirked a brow when he saw the number that popped up.

John Morrison.

John never called him, especially this late at night. Their friendship was close, but they both made sure to cut off ties outside of work. Mike sent a look back at the blonde, motioning at her that he'd be a minute.

Still naked and fully erect, he flipping his phone open, answering in a impatient voice.

"What?"

"M-Mizzy..." The shaky voice of Morrison replied. Mike could tell he was on the verge of tears by the crack in his voice, and how he had used 'Mizzy'. John had only called him that one other time, and that had been when Miz had been badly injured. He'd never seen John so scared before.

"John?" He murmured, his voice softening. He heard the blonde girl sigh, noticing that this wasn't going to be a quick conversation. "John, what's wrong?"

"Melina…" He heard his partner whisper. Miz could hear the brunette sniffle slightly.

"What about Melina, John? I can't help you if you don-" He gasped as he felt warm hands wrap around the base of his shaft, lightly tugging. He sent a glare towards the girl, mouthing a quick 'stop it'.

"Sh-She…broke up with me."

The girl snorted, hearing the conversation on the phone.

"Hang up on that sad sap and come to bed." She whispered in his ear, fingers trailing down his chest. Miz couldn't fight a moan. Suddenly, his eyes hardened as he heard another small sniffle, and the sound of someone blowing their nose softly. Mike grabbed the girl's hand, pushing her away, and mouthing 'Leave.'

Her face darkened as she huffed and angrily threw her clothes back on. Turning to Miz before storming out, she made sure to get a last word in.

"Fuck you! Way to chose some sniveling bitch over sex! Tell your little boy toy hi, fucking jerk."

Miz winced as the door slammed.

"Come over, John." He murmured softly, slipping into his clothes.

"Wh-What?"

"You shouldn't go through this alone. You loved her. Spend the night."

The Chick Magnet sat in heavy silence, awaiting the others reply.

"Okay…Okay." With that, the phone clicked shut.

Mike flopped down on his bed, staring at the ceiling above him. He barely managed to process what he'd done. He'd chosen comforting his partner rather than steamy sex with a sexy blonde. He grimaced. He was becoming a sap.

A knock on the door alerted him.

Sighing, he lumbered through the hotel room, swinging the door open to reveal a worn looking John Morrison. His breath caught in his throat as he stepped aside, allowing the slightly shaking body to stumble inside. Miz stepped back, allowing himself to get a full view of the man in front of him.

John had changed into baggy gray sweats, which hung loosely on his hips, which were barely covered by the black tank he'd obviously just thrown on. His usually perfect, chocolate brown locks were messy and clinging to his tear stained cheeks.

And his eyes…were covered with dark, shaded sunglasses.

Miz stepped forward, gently plucking the glasses off his partner's face, revealing red, swollen, teary eyes. With neither saying word, John allowed Miz to grab his hand, leading him to the large queen sized mattress. John hesitantly slid under the covered, fingers toying with the pattern of the sheets.

"I loved her Mizzy…" He whispered sleepily, eyes heavy.

"Shh...Shh, I know. Go to sleep Jomo."

* * *

**Well! I guess that went well. What do you guys think? Feel free to review.**

**Song I listend to that inspired me for this chapter: Need You Now- Lady Antebellum.**


End file.
